A Reason To Live
by Scription Addict
Summary: Sometimes we need a reason to carry on, a reason not to give up, a reason to live. Grace/Boyd


Sometimes you need a reason to go on, a reason not to give up, a reason to live. Grace/Boyd

Disclaimer - I own nothing.

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><p>A Reason To Live<p>

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><p>Set after endgame and before harbinger.<p>

Grace woke up slowly and rubbed her eyes. It was light outside, and the bed next to her was empty. She sat up on the edge of the bed, and no sooner had she done so than she felt the now very familiar feeling of nausea in the pit of her stomach, it quickly rose to her throat, and she stood up to make a quick dash to the bathroom.

Boyd whisked the eggs up in the jug, and boiled the kettle, he had making breakfast down to a tee now, knew just how she liked her eggs and her tea. A little pot on the tray contained her morning regime of medication, anti-nausea tablets and painkillers among others. He suddenly heard a thud from upstairs and rushed to see what the noise was.

"What happened?" He asked whilst stooping down and lifting her up off the floor into his arms.

"I felt sick and tried to rush to the bathroom, I guess I stood up too quick." She replied to him.

"For heaven's sake Grace, there's a bowl by the bed, you know you don't have to rush to the bathroom."

"And you know damn well that I hate throwing up into that bloody bowl, because then you empty it, and I hate that, you're not my nurse."

"No I'm not a nurse, but I made a decision to move in here with you and take care of you whilst you are ill."

"It's not necessary any more."

"Really? So you ending up on the floor was nothing to do with you being ill?"

"I just got up to quick."

"We've had this conversation a million times. You were diagnosed with cancer, and you have been having chemotherapy. You need to convalesce, and regain your strength, and to do that you need to be looked after, either in a convalescent home, or with someone to look after you. I gave you a choice; you move in with me, or I move in with you. You understandably chose for me to move in with you. I understand that, it's more comfortable in your own home, so I moved into your spare room, to take care of you, and I am not going until the Doctors say you are well enough not to need a carer any more."

"Okay, okay. Oh god, bowl." Boyd lifted the bowl and held it to her as she started to vomit into it, he gently placed his hand on her back to try and steady her as her body heaved. And when she stopped, he grabbed some tissues to wipe her face.

"Get back into bed, I'll bring you some water."

She gently rested her head on his shoulder as his hand still rested on her back. "Thank you."

"It's just a glass of water Grace."

"I don't mean for that, and you know I don't."

He smiled at her, "You're so very welcome." He replied.

She laid back into bed and pulled the duvet around her. She felt the cold so much since she'd been ill, Boyd had been fantastic. He did everything for her, even carried her up to bed on nights when she was too exhausted to walk up the stairs. He cooked, cleaned, shopped, did her washing, and even helped her eat, drink and wash. She'd nearly dropped dead from shock the first time he walked in with a bowl of hot water and a towel. But after that, she forgot he was her colleague and just remembered that he was her friend, her best friend. On one occasion, she'd decided to have a bath, which was all well and good, until she wanted to get out, and she didn't have the strength to push herself up. She waited for ages until deciding that she needed his help, and she was freezing cold, by the time she called him, he lifted her out like a parent with a baby, wrapping her in a warm towel and sitting her by the fire in her lounge to try and warm her up, he helped her put on some clean pyjamas and then sat with her in his arms until she had warmed up.

The illness had caused her to lose weight and become very frail. She looked older than her years, but he constantly reminded her that she would be back and fighting fit in no time at all. When her hair had fallen out, it was him who had gone and bought her a beautiful soft silk scarf to wrap around her head, and hide what was beneath, he told her she looked beautiful no matter what, but he knew she would feel more comfortable to hide her bare scalp.

There were times when she couldn't sleep, times when her body ached, like the worst case of flu you could ever imagine, times when she was so cold that no amount of jumpers and blankets could warm her up, times when she was so exhausted she couldn't walk to the bathroom unaided, and it was at those times that she appreciated him the most, times when he had lain in her bed and held her as she cried with the pain or the cold, or the sheer frustration at how old and frail this bloody illness was making her feel. He spent so many nights laying in her bed and holding her until she fell asleep, that eventually he didn't bother with the spare room, he just moved into her room. They talked about it, and she had agreed. She liked having him with her. They had never been anything more than friends, and she had to admit that sharing a bed with a man she had never been physically involved with did feel a little strange at first, but she got used to it, and when she was cold and hurting, he held her in his arms in a way that made her feel like the luckiest and safest woman in the world. He warmed her, comforted her and held her.

Boyd returned a while later with a tray. On it he had a glass of water, tea, toast and eggs. He knew she usually wasn't very hungry, but if she could get something down it would help ease the nausea.

"Hey, you still awake?"

"Mmm, oh sorry I must have dozed off."

"Here sip some water." He helped her to sit up gently before handing her the glass.

"Thanks." She sipped the water and then instantly winced in pain.

"Is your mouth still sore?"

"Mm, the mouth ulcers are getting worse."

"Open your mouth a little, let me have a look." Grace opened her mouth as far as she could, so he could see inside it, she winced in pain just opening it, "God that looks sore, I think it might be infected."

"I still have some of that paste around to put on it."

"Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"No, it will be fine."

"You need to be careful with infections."

"Yes, thank you Doctor Boyd, but I am aware of that fact." She replied sarcastically. She immediately realised how unpleasant she was being, "Sorry." She whispered softly.

"It's okay. It doesn't matter."

"It does, you're here to take care of me, and all I can do is be abusive towards you."

"You're not abusive. You're going through hell, and I don't think I would be anywhere near as graceful, or as pleasant as you if the roles were reversed."

"I don't know why you stay with me." She said. A little self-pitying.

"Because I want to, I want to take care of you, to look after you, is that so wrong?"

"No, I just wonder why you put up with all my moaning."

"Shut up, and take your medication." He handed her some tablets, to help with the nausea and pain.

"Thank you." She replied, and again grimaced as she took them.

"Just sip it slowly." He took the glass from her and placed it back on the tray, "Okay, so is madam going to try and eat some breakfast this morning?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You know, as well as I do that you have to eat a little."

"I throw up every time I move. I feel like I'm going to throw up, even when I don't move, my mouth feels like it's on fire, my lips split open every time I open my mouth. My head is banging, and I don't have the energy to lift the bloody fork up, so I'll pass, thank you." Her reply was again sharp and curt.

Boyd put some of the soft scrambled egg onto the spoon, and lifted it to her mouth, "softly scrambled Grace, just the way you like them."

"I'm not a bloody child Boyd. My body may be falling apart but my brain is still functioning, now I'm pretty sure I said I didn't want any."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure I'm not taking the tray away until you've had at least three spoonfuls."

"That's one more than yesterday."

"I know. You need to build up your strength." He replied with a smile, undeterred by her aggressive behaviour, he again put the spoon to her mouth, this time she opened her mouth and allowed him to feed her the eggs. As instructed, she ate three spoonfuls of the scrambled eggs, and half a cup of tea. "See, it wasn't that bad was it?"

"Thank you nurse Boyd," she replied sarcastically, "when are you going to start wearing one of those little nurse uniforms, I think you have the legs for it." She said with a smile.

"Oh, haha, feeling a little better are we?"

"Just a little."

"Good! Do you want a bath, a shower or just a wash this morning?"

"Oh such big decisions, I think we'll risk the bath."

"Okay, I'll get it ready for you, back soon."

Boyd ran her a bath, and then returned and helped her to the bathroom, he undressed her and then gently lifted her into the bath. He stayed with her, and helped her to wash the bits that she didn't have the energy to reach, carefully washing her feet and back, when she finished he lifted her out and carried her to the bedroom. He sat her on the bed, and then helped her to dry and get dressed. Having a bath always zapped all her strength for a while, so when she was dressed, he carried her down stairs and laid her on the sofa, where she fell asleep for a while. He sat and watched her as she slept, she looked so different, the illness and the treatment, had raged through her body like a storm, and taken with it all her energy and strength, and the treatment wasn't even over yet. She had another round of therapy to go. God knows how she was going to get through it, but one thing was sure; he would be there with her, every step of the way, holding her hand, carrying her and holding her when she needed him, he refused to leave her side until she was in full recovery, and no longer needed his care, and even then she would have to push him out of the door.

As she began to stir from her sleep, she gently rubbed her eyes, and stretched slowly. She couldn't speak straight away. Her mouth was always too dry, but he had some water by her side for her. She sat up slowly and took a sip from the glass.

"How you feeling now?" He asked her. He knew it was a stupid question, just as she did, but it was an automatic question.

She resisted the urge to be sarcastic, and just answered him. "Not so bad."

"Can I get you anything, a cup of tea?"

He went to get up, but she stopped him, "no, thank you, actually Boyd, I need to talk to you, there's something I need to tell you."

"Whatever it is, I'm sorry." He said with a smile.

She raised a small smile back at him, "I know you're going to find this hard to understand, but I've made a decision..." she hesitated slightly, "I've made a decision, not to continue with the treatment."

"You can't just stop the treatment Grace."

"Yes I can, and I am going to stop it. It is unbearable Boyd. I can't take it any more."

"Grace I know it must be awful, but..."

"No I don't think you do know how awful it is, I know you have been here with me every step of the way, but it's my body that hurts all the time. It's me with a mouth full of ulcers, split lips and skin so dry that it splits constantly. It's me that can't even spray deodorant under my arms because the skin has all peeled away like I've been sunburned, it's me who has to cover my head because my hairs fallen out, it's me that throws up constantly, and doesn't have the energy to even lift my fork, it's me that has to rely on my best friend to lift me in, and out of the bath because I can't do it for myself, I'm tired of it Boyd, I've had enough."

"So what's the alternative, you give up. You just let it take you."

"Boyd, I'm dying. The treatment is delaying the inevitable, but in the process, it's giving me the worst possible quality of life. I want to enjoy what time I have left, not spend it like this, please don't fight me on this."

"It would be impossible for me not to fight you on this Grace. You have a chance of full recovery, you know that, the Doctors have told you that, it is not incurable."

"Possible, yes, but also highly unlikely, the odds are against me, please don't ask me to spend what time I have left like this."

"I have to. I cannot give up on you, and I am not going to let you give up on yourself."

"You have helped me so much, and taken care of me, and I will never forget that, but this is my decision. I'm sorry if you don't agree with it, but I am not going to change my mind. I can't do this any more."

"So you're just going to sit around and wait to die, is that better than fighting for a chance to stay alive?"

"But it's not a fair fight, and it's not a fight I'm winning. I'm dying, and I'd rather do it with a little dignity, and maybe even a little hair."

"You get one life Grace, don't let it go without a fight."

"I'm tired of fighting. I want to enjoy what time I have left, not spend it doped up to the eyeballs with my head down the toilet throwing up."

"I won't let you do this. I can't let you do this. You're just having a bad day that's all, tomorrow you'll be back to yourself."

"Tomorrow I will feel the same as I do today, and the same as yesterday and the day before that and the one before that, it's over, I can't do this any more, I want it to end."

"Oh you want to die do you?"

"No of course I don't. I just don't want to suffer like this any more. It's too much. I have had a good life, done things that other people only dream of. I'm happy with that."

"Well I'll have you declared mentally unstable, tell them you are not capable of making decisions for yourself, so that they force the treatment on you."

"You can't do that, we're not even related Boyd, you're a friend, my best friend. We've known each other for years, and I'm asking you to respect my wishes and allow me to die with dignity."

"No, I won't allow you to die with anything. I will find a way of making you have this treatment."

"No, you won't. I have made my decision, and I am asking you to respect that decision."

"I will not respect anything that allows you to die without putting up a fight."

"Why not? Don't I have that right?"

"What about my rights?"

"What rights, this is my life."

"No it isn't, it's your death not your life, and I am asking you not to stop your treatment. I am asking you to carry on fighting."

"I can't."

"If you can't do it for yourself, then do it for me."

"Why?"

"Why do you think I'm here Grace, why do you think I lay in your bed and hold you at night, keep you warm when you're cold, hold you gently when you hurt and can't sleep, hold the bowl when you vomit, bathe you, feed you, put cream on your skin, and spray solutions into your mouth, why do you think I do all those things for you?"

"I never asked you to do any of those things."

"I know you didn't. I'm here because I want to be, I'm asking you if you know why I chose to be here, to do those things for you?"

"Because you're my friend."

"No Grace, I'm not just your friend. I love you. With all my heart and soul, I love you."

Grace sat dumbfounded, staring at him. She could see the tracks the tears had made down his face. His eyes were a mixture of emotions, anger, fear and sadness. "But..."

"But what? But I never said anything, but I never made a pass at you. What kind of man would make a pass at a sick woman. I am here because I love you, and because I love you, I decided not to say anything until you were well again. I didn't want you to think it was all some kind of sympathy statement, telling the dying woman, I love her."

"So how do I know that's not why you're saying it now."

"Look at me, do I look like man who's telling you he loves you to please you."

"So why are you telling me?"

"Because it's true, and I cannot and will not sit by and watch you throw your life away without telling you how I feel. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to go on around the world trips and see all the things we've ever wanted to see, the Pyramids, Ayers rock, St Basils Cathedral. I want to cruise along the Nile, take you on a round the world cruise, and wine and dine you in Paris. I want to ask you to marry me at the top of the Eiffel tower. I want to do all those things and more with the woman I love. I don't want to marry you because you're dying, I don't want to spend the rest of my life bringing flowers to a grave whilst wondering what might have been. I know you're going through hell, and you feel terrible. I know it hurts that bad that you cry at night, that you feel so weak you can barely stand, but I'll stay with you. I'll help you, do everything for you, please Grace don't give up."

Grace sat and stared at him as tears trickled down his face, it wasn't something she was used to seeing. Oh, she'd seen him on the verge of tears sometimes, when they had a particularly hard and disturbing case, when he'd lost Luke, but never actually crying, like he was now. He meant every word of it she knew that. This wasn't just a load of emotional blurb to make her change her mind. He meant it.

"But what if it makes no difference?"

"You don't know it won't. We'll take it on together. I promise, as long as you try I will stay by your side. I will hold your hand, and I will hold you in my arms each and every night for the rest of our lives."

"And what if I choose to stop the treatment anyway, will you walk away?"

He rose his hand to her face, "I think you know the answer to that question, but as you've asked it, I'll answer it. I could never walk away from you, yes I'll be angry, and I will never stop trying to change your mind, but I will never walk away from you."

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><p><strong><span>12 Months Later<span>**

Grace stood and looked out over the city. It was Christmas and there was a distinct chill in the air, mind you, she was stood at the top of the Eiffel tower. The man stood next to her noticed her shiver, and, gentleman that he was, he immediately removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

"You okay? I don't want you catching a cold."

"I'm fine. It's just a bit chilly up here."

"You sure?"

"Don't fuss Peter."

He gave her a knowing look, "Five more minutes, and then we're going back down, okay?"

"Okay, bloody mother hen."

"I don't need to remind you how ill you've been do I?"

"No, I'm aware of that thank you."

"Worth the wait though isn't it, the view I mean."

"It's beautiful, thank you for bringing me."

"Well, I did once make a very long statement about all the things we were going to do when we retired, if you fought that bloody horrible illness."

"I remember."

"Good, cos you did fight, and you won."

"Remission Peter, don't get carried away."

"I don't care what they say, it's gone. I know it is, my Grace is back."

"Your Grace eh?"

"My Grace! Do you remember all of that statement?"

"Pretty much, yep."

"Do you remember this bit?"

He stopped speaking, and she looked at him awaiting the rest of the sentence, but as she did so her eyes were drawn to the open box in his hand.

"Peter?" she said, a little in shock.

"I once said that I wanted to ask you to marry me at the top of the Eiffel tower." He stooped down onto one knee, "so, will you marry me Grace?"

She couldn't hide the smile that was beaming on her face. "Yes, I'll marry you, now can you actually get up from there, or do I have to stoop down for a kiss?"

He smiled back at her, and then stood up, "I'm not that bloody old." He took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger, before taking her in his arms and kissing her. After a while they returned to looking out over Paris, it was dark and the city lights were beautiful, he still had his arms around her, holding ontoher tightly. He leant forward and whispered into her ear, "Paris is beautiful, but it doesn't even come close to you. I love you."

"You soppy old sod. I love you too"


End file.
